And Then There Were Nun

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To Barbara LaNora Blair

whose encouragement has kept me pushing

forward every time my characters

led me down a dead-end road.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

With heartfelt appreciation to Dennis Blakesley, Pamela Cowan, Anthony Huff, Elizabeth Jones, Phyllis Liesegang-Jensen, Michael Anne Maslow and many more whose encouragement has kept me writing.

Chapter One

Rain was pouring down on the streets of downtown Portland, yet people were out in droves for work, shopping or running to catch a bus. Most paid little or no attention to the many disheveled men and women that stood on nearly every corner begging for spare change, but he noticed them all. He stood at a distance watching them, taking note of their demeanor and the sound of their voice, looking for just the right one. He started at Burnside and moved south along 5th Avenue toward the center of downtown. He had eyed many but still had not found the perfect one. Eventually, he reached the corner of SW 6th Avenue and Morrison Street. Standing against the concrete façade of the Wells Fargo building, he stopped to watch an older gentleman who stood on a wooden crate at the entrance to Pioneer Courthouse Square. The old man was reciting Shylock’s speech from Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice. The man was not like the other panhandlers. Though dressed in dingy, soiled clothes like the others, this man held himself in an almost regal posture. It was obvious he was an educated man.

He waited until he had heard enough to know this was his guy. Turning the collar of his trench coat up and pulling it closer to his neck, he made his move.

Finished with his speech, the soaking wet orator sat down on his crate and began counting the pennies, nickels, and dimes passersby had tossed into the rain-soaked hat he had placed on the ground in front of him.

How’s business? the watcher asked.

It couldn’t be better, the orator said in the same booming voice he had used during his speech. The rain seems to open up people’s wallets. Ah, a quarter! He held it up as though looking to be sure it was real and not a slug. Say, he said, dropping it back into his hat and eyeing the well-dressed man before him. You wouldn’t happen to have some change you would be willing to donate to a starving actor, would you?

How about something better?

A better offer? I’m intrigued, the man said and stood up, hat in hand. Please, I’m all ears. He gave a slight bow.

How would you like to earn more money than you could make in a year of standing on this corner?

I already said, I’m intrigued. Do tell.

Fine. Come with me.

The man grabbed his crate and walked beside the stranger.

I have a part I would like you to play.

Chapter Two

Be safe and have a blessed Thanksgiving. I’ll see you a week from Monday, Sister LaNora announced when the final bell stopped ringing. You are dismissed.

Standing beside her desk at the head of the classroom with her hands tucked beneath the long black scapular of her habit, LaNora felt a deep sense of pride stir in her chest while she watched her fifth-grade pupils grab their books and bags and hurry out the door. This was by far the best group of kids she had ever had the privilege to teach. For the most part, they were all well behaved and polite, something that made her fellow teachers a bit envious.

No running in the halls, she reminded them but knew there were one or two who would not listen. It was all right. Sister Angelica, the hall monitoring vice-principal, would be on duty and stop them.

Once the room was empty, Sister LaNora began her daily ritual of tidying up. She straightened the rows of desks, picked up scraps of paper and a stray book or two that had slipped from a pupil’s backpack or the bookcase. A scrap of paper on the floor beneath a desk in the back of the classroom caught her eye. It was a crumpled page from a notebook. She bent down and picked it up. Continuing her rounds, she unfolded the paper. A smile slipped across her lips as she read it. She recognized the handwriting.

Sister LaNora is too pretty to be a nun.

For sure, was written by another hand beneath it.

There was a time, she said aloud quietly to herself remembering the younger version of herself. A memory of Luke sprang to the forefront of her mind and a feeling of longing formed deep inside of her chest. Longing for yesterday when she was a young, teenage girl. She used to wear her long, shiny, brunette hair tied back in a ponytail. Now, her hair was hidden from view beneath her white wimple and long black veil.

When she decided to become a nun, she could have chosen any number of Orders who did not cut their hair or wear a habit, but she wanted the distinction and protection of the old habit. Wearing it would remind her and others that she was dedicated to God. That was why she chose to enter the convent of the Sisters of the Sacred Heart.

Oh, there you are. Sister Angelica’s raspy voice jolted LaNora out of her thoughts. Are you okay?

LaNora looked at the elderly nun and folded the piece paper. Tucking it into the pocket of her habit, she nodded with a smile.

Yes, Sister. I’m fine. What is it?

Sister Victoria wanted me to tell you, that you are to accompany her to the Mother House immediately, Angelica reported.

The Abbey? Why?

She didn’t say. However, she did say you need to pack for an extended stay.

But I have class a week from Monday. Did she say how long?

No, Angelica said, She just told me to give you the message and to tell you to hurry.

Thank you, Sister Angelica, LaNora said and gave a polite nod toward her senior sister. She grabbed her briefcase and the stack of papers from her desk then hurried out of the room.

The two-story convent was situated across a small courtyard from the elementary school. In no time LaNora stood in the center of her small bedroom. The narrow, single bed, neatly made, sat against the wall with its head in the corner. A nightstand with a lamp and a Bible sat beneath the window, between the bed and overstuffed chair. LaNora pulled the paper from her pocket and looked at the writing. A memory flashed in her mind. A memory of when she was called Rebecca.

The Dairy Queen was packed. It was the day before graduation and in-crowd seniors were already celebrating before the big party that night.

Rebecca barely touched her burger and fries. Her long, chestnut hair was pulled back and gathered into a loose ponytail that hung down her thin neck. Her gold-flecked brown eyes teared while she looked across the table at the young man who sat with her. He was handsome. His perfectly coiffed blonde hair, his deep-blue eyes, and his ripped athletic build made him the object of many schoolgirls’ envious restroom conversations.

I don’t understand why you want to be a nun, Luke said as though just saying the word left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Rebecca avoided his eyes and looked at his milkshake. Tiny beads of sweat dripped down the side of the cup and formed a ring puddle around the base. She tried not to hear the pain and heartbreak in his deep voice.

You’re making this hard, she said quietly.

I don’t care, he shouted, but the noise in the restaurant drowned him out. Don’t you care how I feel?

I do, but I can’t ignore my calling.

Calling? What calling?

God’s calling.

Luke ran a hand through his hair.

Hey guys, Gordy said, stopping beside the table and looking at them. Why so serious? Lighten up. We’re getting sprung tomorrow. He nudged Luke’s shoulder.

Not now, Gordy, Luke said.

Sure. Sure. You still coming to the party tonight?

I don’t know, ask her, Luke answered in a flippant tone.

Rebecca looked at Gordy and forced a smile. Yes, we’ll be there.

Great. See ya’ later.

Rebecca watched Gordy walk away.

You shouldn’t lie if you’re gonna be a nun, Luke said.

I wasn’t. We are still going, aren’t we?

Why? So, you can keep pretending to be my girl?

Don’t you want to go with me?

Of course, I do. I wanted to spend my life with you. Get married someday. Have a family. But evidently what I want doesn’t matter to you anymore—if it ever did.

Of course, it does, Rebecca answered. She reached across the table to put her hand on his but he pulled it away.

Luke, I care about you, I really do. I have ever since grade school. But I can’t help that I feel pulled to a different path.

You don’t have to go, Luke said.

But I do.

Why?

Rebecca looked at him and sighed. This was not the first time they had had this conversation. He was the first person she told when she made her decision after Christmas break. No amount of explaining was going to make him understand. It was as if he did not want to.

When? he asked.

The day after graduation.

Luke looked around at his fellow classmates, their smiling faces filled with hope and anticipation.

I used to look forward to Graduation Day, he said, turning back to Rebecca. Thanks for ruining it.

I never meant to, Rebecca said.

Luke looked at his tray, seemingly to avoid looking at her.

Rebecca could not help feeling torn inside. She had known Luke since grade school. He was the first and only boy she had ever kissed. They went to homecoming and the prom together and though she felt the same urges as other girls, she never crossed the line of chastity; something she knew disappointed him, but he said he was okay to wait until they were married.

You’ll find a nice girl. You’ll marry and have a wonderful life, she said, breaking the silence between them.

Oh, so now you can see the future? Luke snapped. I love you, Becca, but obviously it doesn’t mean anything to you.

It does. I love you, too, but I have to do this. Please, try to understand.

Luke looked at her. His eyes were damp with tears but she could see the fire burning inside them from his pain.

No, he snapped. I’ll never understand.

He jumped to his feet. He took his tray and emptied it into the garbage on his way out of the restaurant.

A knock on her door jolted LaNora back to the present.

LaNora? Are you ready? Sister Victoria’s voice called from the other side of the door.

LaNora slipped the paper back into her pocket and grabbed her overnight bag from under her bed.

Almost, she called out while she reached into her closet and grabbed the two long, black, loose-fitting tunics. She stuffed them, hangers and all, into her suitcase then turned her attention to her black scapulars and waist-length black veils. Her current wardrobe was much simpler and plainer than the one she left behind years ago. Grabbing her undergarments and toiletry bag from her dresser, she tossed them into the suitcase and snapped it shut. She opened the door and immediately stepped back in surprise when she saw Victoria still standing there.

What kept you so long? Victoria asked. We’re going to be late.

Late?

Yes, now hurry.

I’m sorry, LaNora apologized.

Sister Chloe has agreed to drive us to the Mother House. She’s waiting for us at the garage.

Why the urgency?

Mother didn’t say. She just said to come straight to her office when we arrive.

The ride to the Abbey of the Sacred Heart did not take long. Set at the top of a hill, the Abbey overlooked Beaverton to the south. LaNora remembered how she felt the first time she visited the Abbey as a young girl with her parents. Emerging from the thick, lush green forest to see the sunlight shining on the three-and-a-half story, hundred-year-old building surrounded by a manicured lawn and well-tended flowerbeds took her breath away. It was at that very moment when she first felt the pull deep inside as if she were coming home. Seeing the Abbey come into view took her breath away again.

LaNora held onto her suitcase while she stood at the foot of the front steps and watched Victoria say goodbye to Sister Chloe. Chloe slipped into the driver’s seat and turned the car toward the main gate. LaNora watched the car disappear into the forest.

Are you coming? Victoria said, sounding impatient.

Yes, LaNora answered. She tightened her grip on the handle of her suitcase and hurried up the steps of the Abbey.

Ivy clung to the façade of the original center section of the brick building, nearly covering it completely. The east and west additions were as yet untouched by nature. LaNora looked up at the balcony outside the Abbess’ third-floor room on the east wing. She wondered if the Abbess could see the whole Tualatin valley from that vantage point.

LaNora! Victoria said sharply. What is the matter with you?

Nothing, came her knee-jerk response. I’ll tell you later.

Fine, come on.

LaNora smiled and nodded to the older nun who was holding the main door open for them.

Mother Abbess is waiting for you both in her office. You can leave your bags with me. I’ll take them to your cells.

Thank you, Sister Margaret, Victoria said and set her small suitcase on the floor.

LaNora hesitated a moment, remembering the state of her habits, then set her case beside Victoria’s.

The elderly nun closed the front door and smiled at LaNora. The others are already here and waiting in Mother Abbess’ office.

Others?

Don’t ask questions, come on, Victoria said, her impatience ringing loud and clear.

From their days in the novitiate, LaNora knew that Victoria hated to be late for anything. Once when she was late for Vespers, Mother Abbess assigned her an hour of meditation but Victoria did two as her punishment. Victoria was harder on herself than their novice mistress or even the Mother Abbess would ever be.

LaNora tucked her hands beneath her scapular and without running, followed Victoria down the long corridor toward the east wing. Abbess Claire’s office was at the end overlooking the cloistered garden in the back. Sister Victoria knocked lightly on the door. LaNora looked at the door across the hall. For a split second, she caught her reflection in the glass. But it was the young nineteen-year-old novice LaNora who looked back at her. Her chestnut hair peeked out from the top of her short white veil. The white of her knee-length dress looked bright against her tanned skin. Butterflies in her stomach sprang to life. She could no longer count the number of times she had been summoned to the Abbess’ office. No matter how hard she tried, conforming to the rules of a nun was harder than she had imagined. Now, nearly ten years later, the old feeling stirred once again.

Enter, Abbess Claire’s voice called in answer to Victoria’s knock.

Victoria opened the door and stepped into the room. LaNora followed.

The office resembled a library. Floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with books lined the two outer walls. At the head of the office, a large wooden desk sat beneath the windows and faced into the room. Six chairs set in two rows of three, four occupied already, sat in front of the desk.

LaNora closed the door behind them and bowed in greeting to Abbess Claire. The Abbess, a short but stout woman, nodded in response. Abbess Claire was an elderly sister but her habit, which covered everything but her face, made it hard to tell just how old she actually was.

Good, you’ve arrived. Please, have a seat, Abbess Claire instructed.

LaNora followed Victoria to the two empty chairs in the back row. She quickly sat down in the one nearest the door. She glanced at her sisters and was surprised to see Sister Juanita, the Abbey’s mechanic, and Sister Dominica, the Abbey’s resident nurse. They were both members of LaNora’s novitiate class along with Victoria. The other nun appeared to be fresh out of high school and wore the white habit of a novice. LaNora had met her the day the young girl had entered the Abbey but, at that moment, LaNora could not recall her name. The remaining nun, much to LaNora’s surprise, was Sister Abigail, their old novice mistress. She sat in the front row at the opposite end from LaNora and looked less than pleased, which seemed to be her normal expression.

I’ve called you all here because I have a mission for the six of you, Abbess Claire began. This is Mr. William Drummond. He is an attorney. He has some news to share with us.

LaNora jolted when she looked at the partially bald, white-haired man. His face was long and narrow. His blue eyes were nearly hidden under his sagging eyelids. His lips were thin. There was something odd about him, something that did not look right. Something out of place. LaNora dug deep in her memory but could not find the answer.

Mr. Drummond reached into his brown leather briefcase and pulled out a file. The papers were covered in a blue folder, stapled at the top. Standing up, he flipped the cover over and looked at the papers.

LaNora noticed his hands, aged and wrinkled. There was dirt beneath his jagged fingernails. Another oddity for a person who makes a living working in an office, she thought.

Let me begin by saying my client wishes to remain anonymous, he prefaced in a slightly higher-pitched tone than LaNora was expecting for some reason that she did not know. "He has